


A Hatching (Un)Kindness

by cyprith



Series: Modern Magic AU [1]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:44:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyprith/pseuds/cyprith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maleficent happens across a human landlord evicting his shape-shifter tenant. Chafing under the new “altitude restrictions” that grounded her, Maleficent steps in on his behalf and somehow finds herself with a new personal assistant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hatching (Un)Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my latest Five Words Prompts series, where people on Tumblr drop five words or less in my ask box and somehow stories happen. 
> 
> I call this the Modern Magic AU. It’s set in modern day, but all of the magic and fairies remain intact. So far, I like it. We’ll just have to see where this crazy train takes us.

Anon prompted: Old feathers and broken glass

—

**A Hatching (Un)Kindness**

—

The Otherside streets swam in gold. Barely risen sun stroked the edges of skyscrapers like Midas’ unwary hand. The promise of flight lingered in the air. For a moment, in the brief breath of sunrise, a proper fairy city rose from the bucked pavement.

But as with everything fae, behind the glamor one found only cobwebs.

Autumn winds rustling her feathers, Maleficent walked on through the heart of Otherside.

Goblins crouched at street corners, rattling coins in coffee cans. Human police in gangs of threes eyed the mice waiting at the bus stop, the unregistered kelpies racing like dark shadows alongside the traffic, manes flashing in shards of sunlight shattered on their puddles.

Beside her, commuting pixies bowed their heads, dodging updrafts from the sewer vents and passing cars. They struggled in every breeze, fighting to keep below the new altitude restrictions.

And meanwhile, the human police watched on— _laughing_ —height gauges and doughnuts in their hands.

Head high, shoulders heavy, Maleficent spared them no glance. She wore her horns as crown, walked with her wings dragging the pavement like the train of a queen’s gown. And as she passed, _all_ fell silent. Humans watched in fear. The Others watched in sorrow.

Old feathers and broken glass scattered the street, a yellow brick road for the modern age.  

Wings aching with the forced and _lawful_ inactivity, Maleficent made her way towards Spindle Street.

“Like _hell_ I will,” she heard from some distance ahead, a red-faced human snarling at an Other. “You’ve had your week’s extension—you know the rules. No rent, _no_ _room_.”

Cramped and restless, Maleficent’s wings shuddered, burning from base to tip. Even the playful brush of wind against her pinfeathers struck her like claws, too much like flight, too much like invitation. Perhaps, in a better frame of mind, she may have continued walking. But the legislation sat too heavy on her shoulders, the wound too fresh and raw—and at the sound of an argument, Maleficent stopped.

Any other day, she’d have carried on. But then, any other day, she’d have _flown_.

“One more day, I’ll have the rent,” the Other tried, hair wild and falling in his eyes. “Promise.”

He had an… interesting sort of face, she found—a sharp nose, soft cheeks but narrow chin. Not handsome, perhaps, but striking. Nice shoulders, well displayed by his battered tank and sleeveless leather jacket.

As the two argued, she considered him. By the sketchy wings he wore tattooed down his forearms, the wild look in his eyes, she knew him for a shifter, one breath away from feral and ready to fly.

Maleficent envied him the ability. Altitude restrictions could not apply to birds.

“I have a thing,” he said. “A gig. I promise. I’ll have the rent to you by—”

“Bullshit. You haven’t had a job all month. You’re _out_.”

The Other flinched, breathing as if struck. “No,” he said. “Please, _no_ ,” and reached forward.

The human jumped back as if from poison. From her vantage point, Maleficent could see the light catching on the Other’s wrist, on the iron band and incised numbers there.

A convict. Paroled, but grounded—his raven-skin locked away from him.

 _“Friday_ ,” the human spat like cursing, as though he could contrive a torture worse than bound and useless wings. “If you’re still here by mor—”

Easy as magic, Maleficent cut in. She strode to stand at the shifter’s side, all business and sharp lines.

The human recoiled. He recognized her, she saw. But then, how could he not? Like all of his kind, he’d spent years pinned beneath her smile—billboards, news programs, business magazines. And though he hated Others—yes, she saw it in every line of his face—Maleficent knew he armed his home with Moor Security, hung _her_ wards, _her_ sentries to keep his family safe.  

“There you are,” she said to the Other. “Nearly finished? The expense report needs a last look before my meeting.”

Though confronted by a famous stranger pretending familiarity, the shifter recovered well. He shrugged, smiled, charming and apologetic. “Just chasing up some loose ends on that, actually.”

Clever. Perhaps she _would_ hire him.

Turning, Maleficent regarded the human with a raised brow. “Is there some difficulty?”

The human swallowed. He tried to take a step back and found his shoulders against the weed-pocked bricks of his tenement. “Well… uh… the rent—”

Maleficent waved a hand. “Is that all? My accountant’s been out of the office. I expect it’s spent the last week languishing on his desk. You understand. Will a personal check suffice?”

Again, the man swallowed. His hands found each other, but found no purchase, scrabbling like anxious rats. “Oh, uh. Sure.”

Withdrawing a check book from her heavy purse, she said, “Remind me of the number?”

It was not an astronomical sum, not hardly. Though by the way the shifter fell still at her side, it meant an impossible fortune to him. Barely breathing, he watched the check change hands. A moment passed. When it failed to disappear in cobwebs and leaves, the human blinked.

Not all fairies paid in gold. He didn’t know what to make of this.

Smiling, polite as knives, Maleficent cocked her head. “Does that settle it?” she asked, closing her checkbook with a pointed _click_.

The man jumped. “Yes, that’s—yes, ma’am. Have a nice day.”

Oh, she intended to.

“Very well,” Maleficent said. And then, to her new assistant, “Come along, then. We’re running late.”

—

The shifter followed her in silence… for about a block. Around the corner and out of sight of his landlord, he smoothed back his messy hair and grinned. Presumably in way he meant her to find _charming_.

“Couldn’t stand to see my beautiful self tossed out on the streets?” he asked.

Maleficent rolled her eyes. Perhaps she should have properly considered this.

Fixing him with a sharp glance, she said, “In such situations, I find _thank you_ doesn’t go amiss.”

But where her gaze had turned griffons and tamed dragons, this raven man only laughed.

“I owe you worse than that,” he said. “But then, I take it you have something in mind.”

Though her wings ached and itched, Maleficent felt their weight a little less.

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”


End file.
